


Knowing

by Ischa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Romance, Time Travel, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time travel fic. In which Steve meets the Winter Soldier before Bucky becomes the Winter Soldier. </p>
<p> <i>“It’s fine,” Bucky says, “it happened a long time ago.”</i><br/><i>“I saw you this morning,” Steve argues. He wants to see Bucky. He wants to see Bucky now; instead, he lets his fingers memorize the shape of the metal. The coolness, the hardness, the ridges in it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowing

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Linzorz. All my thanks.

~One~  
Steve is having a fever. He feels hot and too heavy and everything is kind of blurry. He knows that Bucky is at work, because they need money and Steve—Steve knows fevers like this. They are a pain, but they break, eventually. They always break and Steve doesn’t want people to put their lives on hold because he got sick again.  
He has a fever and he’s hot and always in and out of it.  
But he knows it’s 1942 and he knows Bucky is working at the butcher’s today, so it’s not too bad. He’ll be fine. 

~+~  
It’s hazy. Everything is hazy like dream.  
Steve stirs. It’s not dark outside, but the shadows are longer on the floor.

“You should be at work,” he mumbles as he feels a cool hand on his forehead. 

“I should,” Bucky says. 

His… voice. His voice, Steve thinks, it sounds rough. “Are you alright?” Steve asks, pulling the covers away and opening his eyes.  
Bucky puts the hand over his eyes and Steve goes very still. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who’s sick again,” Bucky says, softer now. 

“It’s just a fever,” Steve mumbles. He feels hot and tired; wants to sleep. But—but Bucky is acting weird. Steve can’t pinpoint it exactly, but something is off about Bucky. 

“I forgot how bad they were,” Bucky says gently. It’s more of a whisper. And even more quiet, “I forgot how small you were.” 

That… makes no sense. Bucky’s seen him just this morning. Steve had always been small. Always been this. He struggles against the covers and the hand over his eyes. “Bucky,” he says. His hand is restless at his side; he wants to grab Bucky’s, finds it, curls his fingers around unforgiving hard, cool metal. 

“Don’t,” Bucky says when Steve opens his mouth to ask… he doesn’t even know what. About the arm, the metal arm. 

“But,” Steve tries and he grips the arm harder. His fingers, sweaty and warm, slip a bit on the metal. 

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, “it happened a long time ago.” 

“I saw you this morning,” Steve argues. He wants to see Bucky. He wants to see Bucky now; instead, he lets his fingers memorize the shape of the metal. The coolness, the hardness, the ridges in it. 

“Maybe I’m not real at all, Steve,” Bucky says. “Maybe you’re making me up.”

“Why would I make you up li— ” he bites his lip. Doesn’t finish that sentence. “I didn’t mean it.” 

“It’s fine,” Bucky says again. 

Steve gets his free hand out and curls his fingers around Bucky’s covering his eyes; pulls a bit. He’s weak and feels too hot. “Hey, hey, Buck, let me see?” 

“What?” 

“Your face,” Steve answers. He pulls again. Bucky lets him. His hand uncovers Steve’s eyes slowly. It’s a caress really. Bucky’s hand still slightly cooler than Steve’s feverish skin. “There you are…” he whispers.  
Bucky’s hair is long and he hasn’t shaved, but his eyes—they are all Bucky and his mouth, the shape of his chin. “Did you break your nose?” Steve asks. He knows Bucky didn’t. He knows, but—

“Yeah, Punk, I did,” Bucky replies. He’s cradling Steve’s cheek, Steve realizes. His fingers tighten on the metal hand. 

“What happened?” Steve slurs. It’s hard to stay awake. He knows he has to stay awake, but it’s so hard. Harder even with Bucky here, because he feels safe and whole. 

“Don’t worry about it, Steve. Nothing happened. Nothing at all,” Bucky says. “You look exhausted.”

“Am…” Steve says, closing his eyes. He really is. 

“Sleep now,” Bucky whispers, leaning down. Steve can feel the air around him shift. It’s so weird; he’s hyper aware of Bucky all of a sudden, but it’s also muted—wrapped in warm cotton. Bucky’s lips on his forehead are soft and cool. Steve sighs. “Sleep now,” Bucky repeats and Steve does. 

~+~  
He wakes up hours later, with Bucky sitting in the rackety chair, reading one of his science fiction novels. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, putting the book down and grabbing a glass of water. “You up for a bit of water?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, sitting up. He’s still too hot and still feels weak, but better than this morning when Bucky left. He looks at Bucky, his Bucky; clean shaven and with short hair, both hands smooth warm skin and flesh. 

He brushes his fingers against Bucky’s when he takes the glass.  
Bucky is fine, Steve thinks, and still can’t shake the feeling of foreboding, of uneasy. 

 

~Two~  
“I thought you were smaller,” Bucky slurs, as Steve is getting him out of that HYDRA base, and it crashes into Steve; that memory, that fever-dream, but there is no time. He wants to strip Bucky to his skin and beyond if possible, but… how would he even explain that?  
He drags Bucky outside, while everything explodes around them.  
Wondering all the time if he is going insane. 

~+~  
Bucky is better off than he should be, Steve thinks. He knows that Bucky doesn’t want to talk about what happened in that room to him. All he wants to talk about is Steve. 

“You just went and signed up for an experiment that could have killed you,” Bucky says. 

“I knew it wouldn’t have killed me,” Steve replies. He knows that. 

“I saw—The Red Skull, Steve. He… had no face,” Bucky argues. “And my face is up here,” he adds.  
Because Steve was staring at his fingers again. “What is with that obsession anyway?” he asks, holding his hands up. “They’re just hands.” 

Steve wants to tell him about that fever-dream he had. About that uneasy feeling deep in his stomach. Wants Bucky to laugh it off and call Steve stupid. Knows he won’t do it. Since he heard about Bucky’s capture by HYDRA, he was fully prepared to see him with that metal hand. Because if it would happen, it would happen there, right?  
He never entertained the thought of Bucky being dead. Not once. It wasn’t hope, it was knowing. 

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I’m just glad you’re alive.” 

“Yeah, thanks for coming to get me, there was no way you knew I was still alive, but I appreciate that you were coming for my… body,” Bucky says. 

Steve nods, because he can’t tell Bucky that he knew. He can’t explain it and this, even if it sounds sometimes like it, is not one of Bucky’s science fiction novels. This is real life.  
“You would’ve done the same for me.”

“Yeah, but I thought you were safe and sound at home. Away from this hellhole,” Bucky says, and Steve knows he wants to sound stern and angry, but he can’t muster it up. Bucky is glad Steve is here. He is relieved to know that Steve is… this. Steve knows this. 

“You and me, Bucky,” Steve says. 

“I know,” Bucky replies. “I know. ‘Til the end of the line.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He wants to press Bucky close, so close and never let him out of his sight, so … future… doesn’t come true. Maybe he already did. Maybe signing up… No, he thinks, no. Metal-arm Bucky had said he forgot how small Steve was. He had known. 

~+~  
There are changes. He knows Bucky. Bucky had always been fit and strong and fast, but he’s better now. He is an excellent sniper, too.  
And Steve knows it’s not super unusual, not at all, some people are just better at these things than others, but Bucky, he is scarily good. 

But they’re at war. This is a battlefield and there is hardly time to sleep or shower and Bucky tells him he’s fine, fine, fine, fine. “Don’t worry Steve.” And, “The nightmares will go away with time.” And, “I told you I don’t remember what happened in that room.” 

Which—all of it, all of it is bullshit. 

But right now Steve can’t do anything about it.  
Maybe, he thinks sometimes, maybe he shouldn’t have asked Bucky to stay with him, to join the Howling Commandos. Maybe he should have send Bucky home. (Not that Bucky would have gone. Not without a fight, but Steve could have pulled some strings.) But Steve is selfish sometimes and having Bucky close makes him feel safe. Makes him think that he can protect Bucky better when he knows where he is.  
Besides, he doesn´t trust anyone as much as Bucky. 

Steve would go through hell for Bucky and knows that Bucky would do the same.  
There are no questions of protocol, safety, or priority for Bucky when it comes to Steve. It could be scary, but it has always been that way between them. 

~+~  
And Steve doesn’t know why he doesn’t look for Bucky, doesn’t know why all he can see is a red haze. All he wants is to destroy HYDRA. All he wants is revenge, and if he wins that war in the process… Well, it’s a nice bonus. 

 

~Three~  
“Strong, fast, had a metal arm,” Steve says and then stops. Had a metal arm; it echoes in his head. The hospital room smells like Steve’s childhood.  
And the rational part of his brain tries to shy away from this conclusion, because this is the future. He had seen so many things he hadn’t thought were possible. Gods and aliens.  
A metal arm—it wasn’t proof of anything. The assassin didn’t look like Bucky. Granted, Steve couldn’t see his face, or his eyes—not clearly, at least, and he had been… bigger.  
Steve closed his eyes briefly. Had that Bucky been bigger? He had long hair.  
But, if it was Bucky, why didn’t he recognize Steve? Why didn’t he stop? Why did he attack Fury in the first place? 

“Steve?” Natasha says. “Are you listening?” She’s pissed, he can tell. Fury had been shot, something fishy is going on with SHIELD, but Steve shouldn’t trust anyone. 

“I’m listening,” Steve says. 

She looks at him sharply, then nods.  
Looking at her is like looking into the face of a war goddess.  
He wonders if she will stand in his way when he tries to get to Bucky.

~+~  
Steve is exhausted and weary. It’s been months and he begins to think that every new lead is just another dead end.  
And then, as he’s getting coffee for himself and Sam, who stayed back at the hotel, he sees Bucky and Bucky sees him, turns… is gone.  
Just vanishes in the crowed, not like hiding, like… magic. Steve stays where he is. He lets the people around him curse and flow left and right like water around a rock. He is a rock, could be one, rooted to the spot. He’s not going anywhere. 

This could be the day, this could be it. 

It’s probably only a few minutes, but it feels like years until Bucky is back again. He looks at Steve and Steve knows Bucky knows him. 

“Bucky,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replies. His hair is still long and he’s a mess. He’s unshaven, but his eyes are the same, his lips are the same, he knows Steve. He knows Steve and he knows who he is and who he used to be. 

Steve takes the first step, but Bucky matches him stride for stride until they’re only inches apart. 

Bucky reaches for him first. It’s like a mirror-image déjà vu, Steve thinks. Bucky’s hand on his cheek, making sure he was real—like in that horrible room in Europe a lifetime ago.  
“I remember the kiss,” Steve says. 

Bucky smiles. “Do you now.” 

Steve nods. He had always remembered that kiss, had always known how Bucky’s lips felt on his skin. “I do.”

“You were asleep,” Bucky says. 

“No, I was drifting,” Steve protest. He remembers feeling safe and warm and whole. 

Bucky’s fingers tighten a fraction on Steve’s cheek and Steve leans into it. And they are two big men, in the middle of a sidewalk; it could well be that he will be recognized every second now. Pictures of Captain America kissing a man in the middle of the street hitting every media platform and then the newsstands. All it takes is one person with a camera phone. And the truth is, he just couldn’t care less. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky breathes against Steve’s lips, “for shooting you.” 

“I'm sorry for choking you until you passed out.” And I’m sorry for not looking for you when you fell. I’m sorry for burring myself in grief and revenge selfishly. I’m sorry I didn’t connect the dots sooner. I’m sorry… Steve thinks. 

“Hey, now, not your fault.” Bucky smiles and Steve leans in. 

And they’re kissing in the middle of a crowded sidewalk and no one cares.  
Steve takes Bucky’s metal hand in his. He knows the feel, the coolness, the hardness, every ridge and joint. 

“When I saw you,” Bucky says and he doesn’t need to say when, because Steve knows, “I knew.”

“What?” 

“That I was in love with you, have always been, no matter the shape you’re in,” Bucky answers. “I loved you on that afternoon when you were feverish and small, and on that helicarrier when I didn’t understand what I felt, and I love you now.” 

“That’s good,” Steve says and leans in again. “I love you too.”


End file.
